


Baker Street Bamfs

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: Baker Street Bamfs [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, BAMF Lestrade, BAMF Mycroft, BAMF Sherlock, BAMFs, Escape, Gen, Kidnapping, Violence, all the bamfs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When London’s most notorious gang kidnaps John, Sherlock and Lestrade to send the Met a message, they don’t expect the boys to fight back quite so well. </p><p>And they never planned on Mycroft Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baker Street Bamfs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phipiohsum475](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/gifts).



> Based on [this post](http://merindab.tumblr.com/post/153760907109/phipiohsum475-when-londons-most-notorious-gang).

John, they got just after work, leaving the clinic. Sherlock was pulled from a cab. Greg found a gun in his face as he was leaving his pub. None of them knew the others had been taken.

**

“You’re making a big mistake,” growled Greg as he was shoved into a car, cuffs quickly locked around his wrists. 

“Au contraire, Inspector Lestrade,” the man in the passenger seat turned to face him. “We know exactly what we are doing.”

Greg glared at him. He knew that face. One of the worst gangs in London. They’d moved up since Moriarty had gone. There were two grunts on either side of him, one with a gun under his chin, but he still continued to glare.

“The Yard must be taught a lesson, you see. And you are part of it.”

**

Sherlock was so engrossed in his mobile that at first he didn’t realize the cab was coming to a stop in an alley. He raised his head after a moment. “What are you…”

He couldn’t complete the sentence as the door was yanked open and he was thrown up against the bricks with a grunt. Rough hands cuffed his wrists and he was pulled back into the cab, gun against his chin. “The Rogers Gang,” he said, no doubt at all in his voice.

“Well you are clever,” said the man in the front seat. “But it won’t help you now.”

A blindfold was tied over his eyes so he focused on the sounds outside the cab, trying to determine where they were going.

**

“What the bloody hell!” John was somewhat used to being manhandled, it came with the territory when one worked with Sherlock Holmes. Being dragged into a car, however, was not usually on the menu. Nor was the gun placed against the back of his head. He stopped struggling, his wrists grabbed and cuffed behind his back. John managed not to wince as his shoulder was wrenched. Four blokes in the car. One on either side of him, a driver and a passenger.

“Should I bother asking what this is about?” he asked.

“You could ask,” said the passenger. “But would it really do you any good if we gave you an answer?” The man turned and gave him a cold look.

John smiled at him. “Never know, it might.”

He barked a laugh. “I had heard you were a mouthy one, John Watson.” He turned forward again and John knew he wasn’t going to get any more out of him.

**

The car pulled into a warehouse and Greg was dragged out and down some stairs. A bare bulb gave the only illumination. He idly wondered if they planned on tossing him into the Thames; the river could be smelled nearby. Greg was pushed into a chair in a bare room, a guard left with him and the door clanging shut.

Greg gave him a smile, testing the cuffs behind his back. “Is this the way you spend all your evenings?”

**

Sherlock was bodily carried out of the car. Warehouse. The river was nearby. Besides the four men he’d come with there were at least three others. The one barking orders was Jimmy Rogers himself, he was fairly certain.

He was hauled, still blindfolded, through the warehouse and down some stairs until he was dumped on the floor unceremoniously. Someone kicked him and he heard footsteps walking away and a door shut. Still one person left. Good. He could work with that.

**

John was pulled out of the car. A few men stood around smoking and talking quietly. None of them paid him any mind as he was pushed ahead of the guards. Whoever these people were, it looked like the gang was all here. 

Only one guard came down with him, holding his arm. He was pushed into what might have been a supply cupboard, and closed the door. The guard loosened his grip on John’s arm, and in a flash, John turned and head butted him, sending him falling back against the wall, gun clattering to the ground. The man reached for his gun, only for John to kick him.

He staggered to his feet and swung, connecting with John’s face, but the soldier barely slowed down, bringing up a knee. The guard fell with a grunt, gasping on his knees. John felt the blood dripping down his face, but he didn’t dare stop. “Undo these cuffs or I’m bashing your fucking brains in.”

**

Greg watched the guard lean against the wall, set his gun aside, and light up a cigarette. It was clear he didn’t think he was much of a threat. Good. Young punks never did think he could keep up with them. The man watched him, smile on his face. “Whatcha gonna do, grandad?”

“Well for starters I’m going to bash you in the face. Then I’ll get out of these cuffs.”

The man scoffed and took a couple steps towards him. “Yeah?”

“Yep.” Greg watched him move even closer, keeping his breathing steady.

“That’s what I-” the young man’s voice was cut off by a sudden elbow to the throat. As he dropped, Greg caught the keys from his belt and deftly undid the cuffs.

“That’ll teach you to respect your elders,” he said.

**

Sherlock wriggled the blindfold free. The guard was leaning against the wall, studying him. “You’re not so tough as all that,” he said.

Quickly looking him up and down, Sherlock played his best card. “Your sister is seeing that gentleman you don’t like.”

He straightened and walked towards the prone figure. “What are you talking about?”

“She cleaned the floor so you wouldn’t see she’d been out. But you suspect.”

He crouched down, gun held loosely in his hands. “Boss is right, you are cracked.” Drawing back his fist, he punched Sherlock hard. The detective landed on his side. Perfect. 

“And you use violence to cover your worry. Classic.”

He shook his head and stepped forward as if to kick him again. Moving fast, Sherlock brought his feet over the cuffs, grabbed the man’s ankle and sent him flat on his back. There was a scramble for the gun, but Sherlock got his hands on it first, flipping it around and cracking it over his opponents head. No need to alert his friends upstairs.

**

Greg slipped out of the door, gun at the ready, keeping an eye out for anyone else. There was movement and he brought his gun to bear, only to find himself looking down the barrel at a bloody John Watson.

“Got you too?” asked Greg.

“Obviously.” Sherlock joined them, looking very much the worse for wear.

“When I was brought in there were at least half a dozen guys upstairs,” whispered John.

“It’s the Roger’s Gang,” said Sherlock. “The back door is heavily barricaded. We’ll have to go up.”

“Right,” said John, clearly resisting the urge to see how badly Sherlock was hurt. “Let’s move then.”

Greg was reminded of Baskerville as they moved. He would certainly take John Watson by his side in any fight. And Sherlock too. He still remembered the scrappy drug addict who had clocked him in the chin.

They almost made it. But just as they breached the top of the stairs, someone shouted a warning and the trio found themselves facing a whole bunch of guns.

“Well then,” said Greg, keeping his weapon steady.

Jimmy Rogers smiled at them. “You should be good pets, put your guns down and go back to your cages. Nobody has to get hurt. Yet.”

John opened his mouth when suddenly a silenced bullet sent one of the men forward. Then a second, third and fourth in quick succession. Greg and John took cover towards one side of the stairs, Sherlock the other.

Suddenly Greg saw Sherlock dart out after Jimmy Rogers. John must have seen it at the same time because, like always, he took off after him. Greg cursed under his breath.

As Greg stepped out from behind his cover, Mycroft bloody Holmes came down the stairs with a sniper rifle resting against his shoulder and his umbrella improbably dangling from his other hand. “The Yard is on their way,” he told Greg. “I predicted they would not arrive in time, so I took matters into my own hands.

“I can see that,” said Greg, looking at the way Mycroft’s black leather gloved hands easily held the rifle. And his suit wasn’t even wrinkled. There was a shout and a grunt coming from the direction Sherlock and John had gone. 

Greg sighed and started after them, aware of Mycroft falling into step next to him. He decided he just wouldn’t ask; Mycroft would never explain anyway.

John was holding Rogers pinned against the floor, gun to the back of his head.

“That’s enough,” said Greg. Mycroft handed him a pair of handcuffs. How? Where? And Greg took the man into custody. “So that’s three counts of kidnapping, on top of everything else we’ve been keeping track of with your gang.”

There was a commotion behind them that told Greg the Yard had arrived. He wondered how, exactly, he was supposed to explain a bunch of dead gang members. Though he supposed self defense while escaping would do. So much paperwork. He turned to say something to Mycroft but the bugger had vanished. Of course he had.

“Are you okay, sir?” Sally hurried up to him.

“Oh I’m fine. It’s these two you have to worry about,” said Greg, pointing at the two bloodied younger men.

“Sherlock should go to hospital, get checked out,” said John.

Glaring at him, Sherlock shook his head. “You’re the one with a broken nose.”

“You have to,” John’s voice was starting to raise. Greg handed the suspect and stepped between them.

“Both of you are going. And that’s final,” he said. They looked at him, but stopped arguing. 

Greg made sure they both got treated and looked around the scene. “Not the way I would have taken them down, but it worked, I suppose.”

“And you’re the one without a scratch on you,” said Sally with a smile.

Greg shrugged. “I’m going home. The paperwork can wait till the morning.” He walked out, unsurprised to find a car waiting for him. Mycroft wasn’t in it, but he knew the elder Holmes would be seeing him sooner rather than later.

**Author's Note:**

> There's going to be a couple smut fics to go on with this as part of a series, but this one's smut free. Much thanks to phipiohsum475 and the rest of the writing group. You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
